


Buy Myself A Chance

by luciferinasundaysuit



Series: Music City 'Verse [5]
Category: Band of Brothers, Generation Kill, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferinasundaysuit/pseuds/luciferinasundaysuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad Colbert is forced to go see a country band.  When his friend Buck Compton introduces him to a friend from law school, the night starts looking up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buy Myself A Chance

He sat at the bar, peeling the label off of his beer bottle. Fuck this, Brad thought. If he was being forced to listen to a country band, he needed a shot. Or several. Of tequila. Good tequila. He waved the bartender over.

“Hey, buddy, I need a double shot of the best tequila you’ve got.”

The bartender, who looked vaguely familiar, raised an eyebrow as he reached for a bottle of Patron and a glass.

“Day going that good, huh?”

Brad glanced toward the stage where the band that Ray had insisted he come see was preparing to start their set.

“It’s about to go straight to hell.”

The bartender followed his line of sight.

“Problem with my band?”

Of course the bartender would be the owner and an angry fucker. Brad’s cup runneth over.

“I’ve got a problem with country music.”

Now the bartender was just amused.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re kind of in the home of country music.”

Brad sighed. That joke was really getting old. He’d wanted away from California after his breakup, and the best place to run a business selling equipment to studios and sound engineers was in a place with a big music industry. Nashville beat the hell out of New York.

“I made a questionable life choice.”

“Why’re you here, in my bar, anyway, if country music offends your delicate sensibilities?”

“Your sound guy.”

“Ray? That little fucker’s a force of nature. He a friend of yours?”

“You could say that. He showed up at my shop one day and never went away.”

“Yeah, that’s him, all right.”

The bartender handed Brad his double and walked down the bar to the other bartender. He pointed to a rusted out shell of a pickup that must be a sound booth, because Brad could see Ray leaning out of the window and gesturing wildly. The bartender said something Brad couldn’t make out, and the other bartender smiled sardonically.

Brad downed his tequila. As he sat the glass on the bar, he heard “Colbert” a second before a hand dropped onto his shoulder. He was glad whoever it was had the sense to speak first. He turned around and looked up at the smiling face of Buck Compton.

Brad returned Buck’s grin and stood up to shake his hand. Buck was a good man, an ADA who’d been impressed by Brad’s service record and gotten him out of a few (dozen) speeding tickets.

“Counselor Compton, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Just wanted to see your smiling face, Colbert. What the hell are you doing here, anyway? You hate country music.”

“How does everyone know that?”

“Because you tell everyone who’ll listen. You picked a shitty place to live, you know.”

“Yeah, Buck, I know. Trust me, I know. Seriously, what brings you to this fine establishment?”

“One of my buddies, Andy Haldane, is the band’s manager. You’d like him, I think. He’s a Devil Dog, like you. Actually, that’s not the only way he’s like you. He’s been dating the steel guitar player, who’s also a Marine, for a little while now. Only took them five years to get it together.”

“Yeah, well, even some guys who had gotten out felt better waiting until after DADT was gone. Nice veiled reference to my sexuality, by the way. How the hell did you even know that?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t stare at my ass.”

Damn, Brad really had thought he’d been more subtle than that.

“Yeah, well, it’s a nice ass.”

“You should have seen me in baseball pants.”

“I have. You have that picture hanging in your office."

"Impressed?”

“A little bit.”

A voice interrupted their banter.

“Switching to my team, Buck? I’m offended. I thought I would have been your first choice.”

A handsome green-eyed man in a suit jacket stood behind them, beaming at Buck like the friend with new blackmail material that he was.

“Sorry, Fick, but you’re too late. I’ve already given my heart away.”

The man gestured to Brad as the corners of his mouth turned down in amusement.

“You know, as handsome as this gentleman is - I’m Nate Fick, by the way - I can’t help but notice that he’s tall, blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered. Like another certain someone we both know. That’s a tad bit egotistical, isn’t it?”

Buck shrugged. Brad could tell that he and this Nate Fick were close friends, the kind who gave each other hell about everything.

“Maybe a little. Nate, this is Brad Colbert, owner of the best sound equipment store in Nashville. Brad, this is Nate Fick, entertainment lawyer. He and Andy Haldane and I were all in the same class at Vandy.”

Brad held out his hand for Nate to shake, and Nate took it. He had a strong grip. Brad liked that.

“Good to meet you, Nate.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Brad.”

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other without breaking eye contact. Strangely enough, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Buck coughed. “Well, you boys seem to be getting along just fine. I think I’ll go find Andy.”

Nate nodded, signaling his assent.

“That’s fine. I’ll just stay here and have a drink. That’s okay with you, Brad, isn’t it?”

That was more than okay with Brad.

“I think that’ll suit me just fine.”

Buck clapped his hand on Brad’s shoulder and walked toward the stage, where the man Brad assumed to be Andy sat having a conversation with a man who could only be Eddie, considering that they were sitting as close as two men could possibly get away with in public in Tennessee. He figured he might as well ask Nate. Brad was never at a loss for words, but this Nate Fick and his pretty green eyes might just make Brad forget what he wanted to say if he didn’t pick a topic and stick with it.

“So, that’s Andy?”

“The one almost tangled up with that thin, handsome fellow? Yeah, that’s Andy. He and Buck and I were in all the same classes together.”

“Good friends, then?”

Brad waved the bartender over, or tried to. The bartender waved back in their general direction, telling them he’d be there when he was good and ready. Brad might like this bartender.

“The three of us were peas in a pod for a while. We don’t get to spend as much time together now that we’re all out in the real world. As I suppose you know, Buck’s the golden boy of the DA’s office. My practice is taking off lately, which is a mixed blessing. Andy still has a client now and then, but he’s put most of his energy into this band. I hear they’re good.”

Nate tugged his lip in between his teeth as he finished talking. Brad liked that. He liked it a lot.

“So, that makes the thin, handsome one Eddie?”

“That is the illustrious Edward “Hillbilly” Jones, yes. Buck and I were with Andy the night they met, about five years back. We thought Andy was studying too hard, so we dragged him to a bar in Franklin. Eddie was playing an acoustic set, and Andy’s a sucker for the acoustic guitar. Too bad it took them five years to get it together.”

The bartender chose that moment to finally walk over.

“Hey, Nate, what’ll be?” he leaned across the bar with a lazy smile.

“Bourbon, neat. Thanks, Joe.”

Brad leaned toward Nate ever so slightly.

“Come here often?” he said with a wry grin.

Nate let out a quiet laugh.

“I’ve been here a time or two. Andy pretty much lives here.”

Joe set Nate’s drink down between the two of them.

“Put it on my tab,” Brad said quickly. He hoped Nate Fick wasn’t the kind of man to get offended over the bill. The expensive whiskey Nate was drinking and the Patron were going to kick Brad's wallet's ass, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Nate cocked his head to the side as he picked up his drink.

“Presumptuous. I like it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Nate grinned into his glass.

“So, you know Eddie too?”

“I met him through Andy, but I know him pretty well too. Nashville’s a big city, but it’s still the South, so the VFW Hall is a fairly popular gathering place.”

“I avoid the place like Ray on caffeinated substances. Wait. You’re military too?”

“Lieutenant Nathaniel Fick, Marine Corps Reserves, at your service. You’re a Marine. That’s not a question.”

Brad really liked this one.

“Sergeant Brad Colbert, formerly of First Recon.”

Nate leaned back on his bar stool.

“I’m impressed.”

“You should be.”

“I love how cocky all you Recon cowboys are.”

“We earn it.”

“That you do.”

“Thank you. Sir,” Brad grinned.

Nate rolled his eyes.

“Well, Sergeant, you’ve wandered into a military crowd. Captain Haldane has only been out about a year. Lieutenant Jones has been out a little longer. Corporal Shelton, the one with the cold, dead eyes, Corporal Juergens, the giant in the corner, PFC Smith, the bartender other than Joe, and a few others who aren’t here yet are all Marines. Even the guy with the cowboy hat, Walt, did JROTC. Not to mention all the Army boys.”

“Trust me, I've heard of Walt. Army boys? They don’t count.”

Nate snorted.

“Don’t tell them that. Bull, the security guy at the front door, counts as about three men all by himself.”

“I could take him.”

“I bet you could, but he comes as a package deal with the security guy at the back door. Don’t be fooled by his size. I wouldn’t want to go up against Johnny.”

“We could take them.”

“Together?"

Nate gave Brad a less than subtle once-over, then said, "Yeah, probably."

Together. Brad liked the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Randy Rogers Band song of the same name.


End file.
